In the dressing-room adjoining, she opened and read her letters.  One of them—­the one with the Australian stamp, characteristically brief but kind—­was to tell her that the writer, a friend of some standing, was coming to England, and hoped to see her again ere long.

The other, bearing the sinister Evesham crest, lay on the table unopened till she was undressed and ready to join Mrs. Lorimer.  Then—­for the first time in all that weary day of turmoil—­Avery stole a few moments of luxury.

She sat down and opened Piers’ letter.

It began impetuously, without preliminary.  “I wonder whether you have any idea what it costs to clear out without a word of farewell.  Perhaps you are even thinking that I’ve forgotten.  Or perhaps it matters so little to you that you haven’t thought at all.  I know you won’t tell me, so it’s not much good speculating.  But lest you should misunderstand in any way, I want to explain that I haven’t been fit to come near you since we parted on Christmas Eve.  You were angry with me then, weren’t you?  Avery in a temper!  Do you remember how it went?  At least you meant to be, but somehow you didn’t get up the steam.  You wished me a happy Christmas instead, and I ought to have had one in consequence.  But I didn’t.  I played the giddy goat off and on all day long, and my grandfather—­dear old chap—­thought what a merry infant I was.  But—­you’ve heard of the worm that dieth not and the fire that is not quenched?  The Reverend Stephen has taken care of that.  Do you remember his ‘penny-terrible’ of a Sunday or two ago?  You were very angry about it, Avery.  I love you when you’re angry.  And how he dilated on the gates of brass and the bars of iron and the outer darkness etc, etc, till we all went home and shivered in our beds!  Well, that’s the sort of place I spent my Christmas in, and I wanted to come to you and Jeanie and be made happy, but—­I couldn’t.  I was too fast in prison.  I felt too murderous.  I hunted all the next day to try and get more wholesome.  But it was no good.  I was seeing red all the time.  And at night something happened that touched me off like an exploded train of gunpowder.  Has Tudor told you about it yet?  Doubtless he will.  I tried to murder him, and succeeded in cracking his eye-glass.  Banal, wasn’t it?  And I have an uneasy feeling that he came out top-dog after all, confound him!

“Avery, whomever else you have no use for, I know you’re not in love with him, and in my saner moments I realize that you never could be.  But I wasn’t sane just then.  I love you so!  I love you so!  It’s good to be able to get it right out before you have time to stop me.  For I worship you, Avery, my darling!  You don’t realize it.  How should you?  You think it is just the passing fancy of a boy.  A boy—­ye gods!